Tech —

Ashes to ashes, Devo to dust: RIP Sony Walkman

When I was a youngster, albums were most often heard in order. 8-track tapes were the only technology that could jump from channel to channel; LPs and cassette tapes were strictly sequential-listening affairs. But one electronic device made the cassette tape a must-have for any young music fan. It was the Sony Walkman, and today we gather to memorialize its passing as Sony has decided to cease sales of the cassette player in the land of its birth, Japan.

It's 1981. I've got a stereo system in my suburban Denver bedroom. I'm rocking a turntable, AM/FM receiver, and cassette player/recorder. As a young music fan, my vinyl library includes the likes of Devo's Freedom of Choice, Genesis' Abacab, Blondie's Eat to the Beat, and Rush's Moving Pictures. On each album there were songs I loved, such as Devo's "Girl U Want" and "Whip It," and songs I would rather not hear, like "Ton o' Luv" from the same album. My cassette player gave me the ability to cherry pick favorites from different albums, creating proto-playlists in a predigital era. We didn't even call them mixtapes back then—they were just collections of my favorite songs.

Recording was a labor-intensive process. I'd put the needle on the album, usually right at the end of the song prior to the one I wanted to record. I'd then put two fingers on the play and record buttons (for some reason I always had to hit play and record—not just record—when I wanted to tape something). Once the needle hit the dead space right before "Gates of Steel," I'd depress the two buttons and start my recording. While the songs played, I'd meticulously fill in a line on the cassette case insert with artist and title. At the end of the song, I'd hit pause (not stop) and lift the needle off the LP (or 45 in many cases—after all, who wanted an entire album of Soft Cell?). I'd then record a couple seconds of dead space before changing albums and repeating the process.

Unfortunately, once I left the confines of my bedroom, I also gave up control over what I heard. I was at the mercy of the radio DJ and whatever my parents happened to have playing on the 8-track tape player in the car (hint: I still have a soft spot for Neil Diamond).

One day, while passing through the Sears at the local mall on my way to the arcade, I noticed a display in the electronics department. There were a handful of portable cassette players with headphones and belt clips. The realization dawned that I could take my music with me—in stereo!

I had arrived at the mall with big plans that involved taking a significant portion of my cash on hand, converting it into quarters, and dropping those into Donkey Kong, Crazy Climber, Ms. Pac-Man, and Defender machines. Although I couldn't be sidetracked from my intended activities that day, I realized that future paper route earnings must be set aside. I needed a Walkman.

Before long, I had saved enough to buy one and could finally take my music with me. No longer would I be subjected to the tyranny of John Denver or The Captain and Tennille in the family car. As long as I had batteries and the foresight to bring a tape or two with me, I could indulge my musical tastes, not my mother's. I had purchased a gadget, the first in what appears to be an unending string of early technology adoptions.

I don't remember how long my original Walkman lasted, but once it died or broke (probably the latter), it was replaced by another one, and that by a Walkman knockoff. Eventually I got my driver's license and upon purchasing my first car—a 1973 Volkswagen Beetle—immediately installed an AM/FM/cassette player. The Walkman ceased to be such an important part of my life at that point, relegated to use when studying late at night or working out.

Nearly three decades after buying my first Walkman, I still take my music with me, only now it's on an iPhone, and I have almost all of it on my person. I no longer have to curate the process of selecting and transferring music; smart playlists do that for me.

But for everyone who came of age in the Walkman's heyday, the news of its passing still stings. Today, the Walkman is an analog relic in a digital world. There may be a limited future for the cassette—the format is still popular in parts of the developing world—but most of us have traded the hiss of the cassette for the zeros and ones of a digital music player. Nostalgia and a handful of indie-label cassette releases are enough to keep Sony's Chinese factories making the occasional Walkman for sale in the US, but the iconic player's demise in the Land of the Rising Sun marks the end of an era.